


Born

by EvenSpeedWeedisAfraid



Series: Hell's Yarns [4]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cliffhangers, Flashbacks, Gen, Headcanon Backstory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Veteran Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvenSpeedWeedisAfraid/pseuds/EvenSpeedWeedisAfraid
Summary: What was Husk doing on the night Marv met with Angel? Bartending, of course.But... the past is hard to escape.
Series: Hell's Yarns [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058714
Kudos: 5





	Born

"You're a damn mess, Marv!"  
"When am I not?" The giant mumbled back before stumbling out of the watering hole, causing the cat demon behind the bar counter to sigh.  
Guy's stubborn as a mule, and that's speaking from experience. Seems to be a recurring thing with the damned souls who fought in war - never compromising, never standing down from their vices. Guess it got drilled into their heads enough times.

Husk can relate to that.  
There was always something that felt _wrong_ when he got home from the jungles - how many tours had he done? Three? Four? He could never find peace by himself, discounting at the bottom of a bottle. After the last tour, when he landed at the airport, him and some other guys (he remembers another guy with him then... John was his first name, maybe) were yelled at, spat at by those long-haired freaks who never had to make a harder choice than what kind of goddamn sandals they'll wear to their joy-circles or whatever, getting all strung out while rolling naked in mud.  
What the fuck do _they_ know, huh?

\---

**_First tour, 1968._ **

He was tasked with providing some cover for the MACV-SOG in early January. He saw the team leader, Woods, talking to some guy - he could even remember how 'Fortunate Son' was playing from one of the tents nearby. Soon enough, he got in the Jeep with them, but before long bombs went off and everything started going to shit.

Freshly enlisted, barely past Private First Class, Jim Husker was left to fend for himself as Woods and the others ran off without him. Barely made it out.

Bastards.

\---

Sometimes, he can still hear the bombs going off when he's all alone. Getting corks out of bottles is a bit of a gamble too, they might remind him of the sudden nature of attacks. Husk pushes it down good enough but sometimes... sometimes it's too much.

The door opens and what he sees... _is_ too much.  
A sight he only used to see in his nightmares.

\---

**_Final tour, 1971._ **

He was playing cards with his platoon when he heard it. A call from the outpost's radio, a young voice screaming himself hoarse from panic that could be heard even over the downpour.  
"Please, if anybody can hear this! This is Private First Class Stevie Goodwin, I'm stationed at Firebase Valley Forge, we're down to our last men, we... we won't hang on much longer! _Help!_ "

Sergeant Jim Husker and his men rushed to Valley Forge as fast as they could wade through the thick, hard rain of the jungle. With visibility only growing in the morning, when they arrived... it was already too late.  
But what he saw that day shook him to his core.  
The entire outpost was slaughtered, but so was every last Viet Cong who assaulted it.  
Standing in the midst of a river of blood and bodies, breathing heavily and visibly wounded, grip tight on a broken down M16... was a single man, staring daggers at Husker's platoon.  
Captain Frank Castle, sole survivor of Valley Forge.

\---

He knew that one day his past would catch up with him, but he didn't expect it _today._  
Dressed in a black coat, Castle made his way to the counter, sitting down on a stool and giving the same type of intense glare he gave way back when.  
He looked almost identical to the Captain who stood amongst the dead - but he had a permanent sheen of red on him, and half of his face was simply an exposed skull.  
"Some Wild Turkey, please." There was an unsettling lack of emotion in what he said, and Husk didn't want to mess around with that. Self-preservation ruled on this night, as he gave the man his bourbon.

Despite it all, they started talking. Trading stories, like old soldiers are wont to do.  
That is, until both pulled out phones, having realised that they had been buzzing for the past few moments.  
"Hey, Frank... d'ya get the same shit I just got?" The cat asked, tentatively.  
The half-skeleton nodded. "I guess we're needed somewhere."

Closing the bar down for the night, Husk and Castle left for the designated coordinates.  
What the hell did this _Gipper_ want from not just one of them, but the _both_ of them?

**Author's Note:**

> Why is this a one-shot when it clearly ends on a cliffhanger? I dunno.  
> Regardless, you'll see the follow-up posted soon.
> 
> Also, I'll admit that Husk's real name is taken from the fic "Soldiers of Different Wars" by Xingshou, which I highly recommend.


End file.
